Page 17 of Witches of Dubious Origin
“Miles called her Freya,” I said. “It’s a book on Norse mythology that looks like a cat.”
“Oh, right.” Agatha chuckled. “Freya’s very affectionate once you get to know her.”
I started in surprise. “You’ve seen the book…er…cat? You’ve been in the BODO?”
“Well, I am the BODO liaison on the museum board.” She studied me for a moment and said, “I think you could do great things there, Zoe.”
“I do great things here,” I countered.
“You do, but you have so much untapped potential. Don’t you want to use it?” Her voice was measured, as if she was trying very hard not to offend me.
“You know why I can’t.”
She pressed her lips together as if to keep herself from protesting. I knew Agatha had my best interests at heart. She always did, but I wasn’t convinced that embracing the family gift of witchcraft or taking a job at the BODO was right for me.
“You know change isn’t easy for me, and all this has come out of nowhere. Plus, it’s more than breaking my promise to Mom. The stuff they were saying about Mamie…”
“Is this about the necromancy?”
“You knew about that?” I was incredulous.
“Your mother and I were friends for decades.” She squeezed my arm in reassurance. “Of course I knew.”
“But you never said anything.” I couldn’t keep the hurt out of my voice. I had thought Agatha wasmyperson and that I was hers.
“Juliet asked me not to and as time went by and I saw how you felt about witchcraft and magic, I decided not to mention it, knowing you would reject it.” Her gaze was sharp but sympathetic. She was right. I would have absolutely spurned hearing about any of this.
Agatha had been in my life as a child like a long-distance favorite auntie, but she’d been there for me every single day of my life since my mom had dropped me off at the Wessexboarding school when I was fourteen. Agatha was the one I’d spent all my holidays with. She’d helped me pick my dress for prom, attended my graduation, moved me into my dorm, eaten copious amounts of Ben & Jerry’s ice cream with me after my first heartbreak, and so on. I was not about to lose her now.
“You’re right. I would have,” I acknowledged. I lowered my gaze to the countertop for a beat. “There’s something I haven’t told you.”
Agatha leaned forward and rested her chin on her hand. “I’m listening.”
“The envelope that the grimoire came in…” I hesitated. I knew I should have told her this from the beginning, but I had been in full denial then. I met her gaze and continued, “The handwriting on the envelope. It looked like Mom’s.”
Agatha gasped and leaned back. “Are you sure?”
“Positive. That’s not all,” I said. “The envelope disappeared.”
“You don’t mean it went missing, do you?”
“No. I was holding it in my hand and it was consumed with green fire.”
“Was it hot?”
“No.”
“Witch fire.” Agatha nodded. “And you didn’t say anything?”
“De-Nile ain’t just a river in Egypt,” I quipped. Agatha gave me a stern look. Okay, then. “Do you think it’s possible that Mom sent it to me? But if so, how? She’s been gone a month. How could it have taken that long to get to me? And why wasn’t it with her things from Mystwood Manor?”
Agatha pursed her lips. “You know your mother never told me where she was going when she dropped you off for boarding school.”
“I know. She never told me either.”
“But do you remember all the times she’d appear over the years?” Agatha asked.
“Always when we least expected it.” I nodded.
